


sap and ruination

by Murf1307



Category: The Adventure Zone (Podcast)
Genre: Butt Plugs, I'm Sorry McElboys, Other, Plant sex, Plants, Vines
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-25
Packaged: 2019-08-07 14:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16410050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Murf1307/pseuds/Murf1307
Summary: Merle takes a walk and has a nice time with some plants.





	sap and ruination

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry! I'm sorry!

It always starts with the trees, and this time is no different.

Pan is the kind of God who manifests only now and then on the Prime Material Plane, but his effects are  _ everywhere _ , and as a result, every flower, every blade of grass, and yes, every growing tree in Faerun and outside it knows Merle Highchurch as soon as he passes among them.

They only do what they do when their God’s favorite is alone; they have learned since that one embarrassing time they tried this while Merle had company.

It...did not go well.

But now, Merle is alone, strolling through this wood with a certain twinkle in his eye.  The trees know that look, and it’s an encouragement as one of them bends a branch down low to caress the dwarf’s cheek.  

He chuckles, and the tree repeats the movement, ivy vines sprouting inexplicable roses as they coil up its trunk, their ends reaching out and waving Merle over.

Merle laughs.  “All right, all right, say no more.”  He approaches the tree.

The vines of ivy immediately begin to wrap around him, instinctive in their movements.  Their God’s favorite, who loves them as well, and draws pleasure from them in ways no one else does; this gives  _ them  _ pleasure, of a kind previously unknown to their kind.

It feels  _ good _ , the way he shifts in their grip, the press and give of his flesh as he shivers under their touch.

Each limb and vine and flower has its own sensations -- what other beings might call a sort of semi-selfhood; a million points of recognition of difference.  The ivy leaf curled around Merle’s right elbow  _ feels _ something different than the rose kissing his cheek.

The trunk of the tree, if it individualized itself that way, would count itself most lucky, as the stocky, warm dwarvish body presses against it.  Merle blesses it, in a way, with his kiss; he might not know it -- almost certainly does not -- but for the trees themselves, this is a benediction.

Trees grow truer, flowers bloom brighter, when Merle Highchurch has so touched them.

Merle has to help the tree undress him, and the vines take on some personish qualities, two of them crossing impatiently like arms.  He laughs and untangles them before unlacing his breeches, having already unbuttoned his shirt and pushed down his shorts; and then the tree has him in vine.

Dwarves, like other non-plant creatures, handle arousal in ways foreign to trees, but this has happened enough that the vines know that the stiff limb they find between Merle’s stout legs is mostly what they’re looking for.

Merle groans.  “Oh yeah, baby, that’s it.  You’ve got such thick vines,” he tells the tree.  “And a nice, tight grip.”

The trees and vines preen, almost, at the praise, and stroke the dwarf the way they have learned how to best pleasure him.  Teasingly, they wind little vines around his thighs, to the flesh behind his branch and stones, where it is tender and touch makes him shake with need.

He moans, his legs spreading, giving himself over to the support of the trees and vines; the vibes respond by gripping him tighter, the little ones slipping just a little further backward, seeking out the place where they can enter him.  He likes that  _ very  _ much, they've found, and the trees quiver their branches in anticipation.

But the way is blocked: the hole is filled already, with a hard thing shaped a little like the vines.

The vines twitch, and Merle smirks.  “I need it big tonight, sweethearts, so I thought I'd get a head start.” He kisses the rose against his cheek.  “Go on, pull it out.”

A vine curls around the base of the thing, and slowly begins pulling it free from Merle's hole.  Merle moans, twitching in the tree's grip, the long, smoothed glass branch sliding out of him.

It's swiftly replaced with a thicker vine than usual, pressing into him faster than usual.  The trees and flowers understand what he wants, and intend to provide.

The thick vine moves inside Merle the way it knows how, speeding up as Merle's moans get louder.

He rocks between the sets of vines, his body bucking in pleasure, and it doesn't take too long before the trees have worked him nearly to the very height of it.

Another vine, smaller than the first, presses inside Merle as well, and Merle cries out in pleasure, shuddering.

The branch between his legs releases its sap, and it lands on leaf and bark and flower — a benediction, in its way, and the leaves in the trees rustle in satisfaction as the vines work it all out of him and he goes limp against the trunk of the tree.

He sighs, gustily.  “Yeah, that's just what I needed.

The trees merely hold him close.

Somewhere in the Celestial plane, Pan smiles in delight.


End file.
